Untangled

“That one,” she said, and pointed to a downed tree branch still covered in green ivy. – Jan Ropers

She watched the strong neighbor boys haul the large branch into the cart, trailing ivy vines. Bets knew exactly what she’d do with that nice piece of cherry. As they continued down the track through the woods, she traced an ivy design in her mind. By the time they returned to the village, the cart was full of downed branches and pieces of fallen logs. Bets kept to the old edicts and took only wood that had fallen naturally. Her young helpers made the small finger wards against evil behind her back. They loved Bets, but their mommas had made sure they couldn’t be too careful. Bets inwardly smiled and agreed with the mommas. Wood carving was a good way for her to spend her waning years. It earned enough and the small charms she inscribed kept her skills vibrant.

Nev and Ras unloaded the wood into her drying shed, stacking it proper under her watchful eye. Bets gave them a handful of small coin and slipped a few toffee candies in for good measure. It didn’t hurt to sweeten them up. Winter was always coming, and it was nice to have someone else chop the firewood.

The cherry branch beckoned from the top of the stack. Bets knocked it with scarred knuckles, listening close, gauging its dryness. Another month, maybe two, depending on the rains, she thought. The ivy design had taken firm hold in her imagination. She measured the branch and studied the bark. Cherry was easy to carve with nice straight grain, but this branch had some personality. Bets hummed quietly running sensitive fingers over the wood. Yes, ivy leaves would be beautiful. She straightened and surveyed the rest of the stock in her shed, mentally counting the days until the autumn fair in the big town down the hollow. There should be plenty of time.

***

Pre-dawn mist clung to her skirts as Bets loaded the last crate of carved spoons into her pony cart. She squinted at the brightening sky and chucked to Dips, her sturdy black and white pony. Dips cocked an ear back and huffed, unhappy at being roused and harnessed at this obscene hour. Bets patted her thick coat and scratched under her chin until Dips sighed in contentment. It was fair day. Bets was confident the mist would burn off as soon as the sun rose properly. No sign of rain would mean an excellent fair. She smiled into Dips’ mane, the idea of a fair could still warm her blood. The simple charms on her wares tinkled at the edge of her mind and made her sneeze. It seemed everyone was excited. Bets tucked her basket under the seat and hauled her complaining knees aboard. Dips shook her head, but obediently trotted down the wooded lane at Bets light touch on the reins.

The greensward of the big town glowed in the early morning sun, dew heavy on the grass. Vendors crowded the road ringing the turf, as they lined up for their token permitting sales. The duke’s men worked quickly to inspect and approve each cart and wagon, assigning spaces marked with ribbons. Everyone was eager to get set up and selling. Townsfolk and villagers watched in anticipation, planning their purchases.

“Hoy, Bets!” cried Rand as she got to the front of the line. “How is it? I’m glad to see you. My missus broke her favorite spoon and I have strict orders to replace it.”

“Heya, Rand,” smiled Bets. “Which spoon? I have all sorts.” Rand doted on his pretty wife and Bets thought of several spoons with nice homesteading charms.

“Oh, dear, let me think,” said Rand as he checked the map of the green and located Bets’ space. “I know it had a flower on it, largish, for stirring. She dropped it in the fire.” Rand smiled shyly. “The babe kicked for the first time and surprised her so!”

Bets grinned back at Rand. “Well, well, well! That’s a grand reason for dropping one of my spoons into the hearth.” Bets was genuinely delighted. Rand was a good soul and the couple had been wanting a babe for so long. “I have just the thing for you and Elle. I’ll tuck it aside for you. You find me when you’re able.”

“Ah, Bets, you’re a grand lass,” replied Rand, his broad open face delighted beneath is sandy shock of hair. “Here you are,” as he handed her the booth token. “I made sure to give you a nice corner across from the lardy buns.”

“Heh, Rand, you sweet one. You know me and the lardy buns. How’m’I going to make a profit today?”

“Bets you’ll do all right, I’m sure. Word is that the duke himself will tour early. And he has a tumble of guests in for the occasion. We’ve seen them going out for a hunt and such. Lots of velvet and heavy in the pocket, eh?”

Bets patted his arm. “Well, then. We’ll hope for a good fair, then.” She nodded and let Rand boost her back into the cart. With a twitch of the reins, she was down the aisle.

Bets was known as one of the best carvers in the county. She unfolded the tables and laid out her cloths. Spoons, forks, ladles, paddles, tongs, everything one might need in the kitchen gleamed under a fresh coat of oil. Each had a small charm for a plentiful home and good harvest. Just a little whisper of luck. Next came belt buckles for the lads, sturdy to hold up their trews and fine enough to catch a lass’s eye. Finally, she meticulously laid out the goods for the ladies. Strings of carved beads, small boxes, delicate dishes, hair pins and sticks, and beautiful combs all quietly hummed with charms for beauty and grace. Bets carved well and true. Her treasures never snapped or threw a splinter. She liked to use the forest and fields as inspiration, so flowers, leaves, vines, and berries flowed across the shining woods. She was particularly pleased with the cherry this time. The branch had yielded a set of hair pins and comb lovingly carved with delicate trailing ivy leaves. Bets had woven in a charm for thick, lush hair that would shine enough to turn heads. She’d had a few girls in mind as she carved them, all who might need a little boost to snag their man.

At mid-morning, a low rush of whispers shushed through the booths as the duke’s party strolled down the aisles. Crafters craned their necks and polished their wares. Food stalls held the water from their wine and beer. Bets settled more firmly on her stool. She’d seen a lot of nobles in her time and the duke tolerated her retirement. She didn’t mind him but was curious who would be in the crowd of younger folks hanging about with his sons and daughter. At last the chatty group turned her corner.

“Hello, Bets!” called Dan, the duke’s youngest son.

“Heya!” Bets smiled back.

Draped in velvets and silks shimmering in the soft autumn sun, the lively crowd of young people surveyed her wares as the elders hung back. Bets caught the duke’s eye and gave him a tiny nod that he gravely returned. No deep magics here, just a kindly wood witch with a dash of talent.

“You there – what do you want for these?” cried a handsome young woman, holding the set of ivy carved hair pins and comb. Bets looked her up and down, assessing. The lovely lass was dressed in finest silk, a petulant twist marred her cupid lips and she tossed raven dark curls in annoyance.

“Wellllll,” drawled Bets. There was something about the girl that didn’t sit rightly.

“Look, old woman,” the girl snarled. “Are you selling them or not?”

“Oh, yes, they’re for sale. Let’s see. One gold florin should do it.” Bets named an outlandish price. She was curious.

“That’s preposterous,” said the lass, throwing the pieces down carelessly. She flounced to Dan, pouting. “Dan, darling, you should lock this hag up for extortion!” Dan shrugged and glanced at his father.

“Now, Zelle, you need to bargain,” Dan started. The girl crossed her arms and pouted.

Bets sighed. Teenagers. “Here, lass, tell me what drew you to them and maybe I’ll consider my price.”

Zelle stepped back and picked up the pieces, examining them. “I was drawn to this rustic design, all this country air and so. However, I see you merely added a charm for hair. How silly. Like I’d need any help with that.” She tossed her thick curls again. Bets squinted at the girl’s obvious pride in her locks.

“Well, dearie, you never know when a simple charm may be useful,” Bets commented.

Zelle shrugged. “Anyway, you asked what caught my eye. I liked the carving. Now, that I’ve examined it, though, I can see your fingers must have faltered. It isn’t very good at all.”

Bets held her tongue as Dan caught the girl’s arm in alarm. The party had gotten very quiet, focused on the small drama unfolding. Bets looked to the duke who rolled his eyes and tilted his head towards a pompous dandy who must be the lass’s father. Bets gave him a grim little smirk and the duke sent her the shallowest of winks. Hoho! She had permission.

Bets stood and leaned over the hairpins and comb still in Zelle’s hands. “Hmmmm, you must be right. My eyes must be failing me too.” Bets tapped her chin, considering. “I clearly cannot charge for such shoddy workmanship. How about this. Give me your graced name and I’ll gift them to you.”

A sharp intake of breath swept through the gathered crowd. One’s graced name was traditionally only given during the sacraments of birth, marriage, and death. Only the highest nobles, deadliest warlocks and most powerful witches walked under their graced names.

The girl eyed Bets, temper showing in the bright flames on her cheeks. She glanced at the waiting crowd, pride wounded, and shrugged with insouciance. “Rapunzel,” she announced in short hot syllables.

The crowd sighed in dismay. “Well, then I see why Zelle is your use name. Very pretty. Let me wrap those for you. We wouldn’t want them to be lost.” Bets reached over and claimed the cherry wood, lightly touched each piece, running her fingertips over the ivy. Humming under her breath, she carefully wrapped the hair pins and comb in a bit of soft wool.

As Zelle accepted her package after checking Bets hadn’t switched items and passed it to Dan to carry. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I feel like you hold the larger bag in this bargain. So, old woman, what is your graced name? It seems only fair, now that we are bosom friends, that I should know.”

Not a breath of wind or people moved in the small space. All eyes were fixed on Bets. She shrugged lightly and smiled an old, wise smile. “Oh, lass, my graced names are Elizabiatassandre Annisetteverly Margaretaselle MourningSong. Now go play with your lads and stop wasting my time.”

Zelle trembled a moment before fleeing, Dan hot on her heels. The rest of the crowd suddenly found other things to look at, lardy cakes to buy, and gossip to share. It was a rare day when the notorious witch lifted the lid on her lantern and let her true light shine. Bets sat back down on her stool as the duke casually leaned a hip against her table and surveyed the backs of his children and their hangers on.

“So, Bets, what to expect, hmm?”

“Oh, Bran. I shouldn’t let proud young lasses rile me.”

“Eh, she deserved it. Nothing but trouble, that one. Should I worry?”

“Is she staying the winter?”

“Not after that little tantrum. I can hurry them back home and Dan will come to his senses. Thank you for that.”

Bets sighed. “Poor lad needs a nice country girl. No, no. You won’t have to worry a stitch. She’ll be her family’s problem now.”

The duke pushed off the table and faced her fully, looking deep into her moss green eyes. “You take care, now Bets. I don’t want reports of your unseemly demise.”

She smiled at him, amused at his concern. “Oh, la, I’m just an old woman who carves a fair piece. You’d best be listening for stories of that Zelle.” She positively twinkled. “I think she’ll be one for the firelight tales.”

Bran nodded and strode off through the fair.

***

The cherry trees were blooming on a rare warm spring day when Ras brought Bets a basket of fresh baked rolls and a bit of gossip. Evidently, a duchy far far to the east had an unusual problem with its daughter. Bets cracked open a warm roll as Ras perched on a stool to tell the tale. There was nothing like his mother’s wheaten buns spread with fresh butter. Bets handed one to him as Ras described how the poor lass’s hair would not stop growing. It seemed they’d resorted to locking her in a tower so the castle staff wouldn’t break their necks on the yards and yards of lush black curls. Ras and Bets exchanged a knowing look as they munched on their bread and butter. She thanked him for the gift, and he showed himself out. Bets stretched her aching fingers. Tomorrow would be a good day for a bit of scavenging in the forest. There was bound to be branches down after the winter. She smiled and breathed in the homey scents of wheat and cream. Yes, there would be more carving to be done.